Coming Home
by TeaNSympathy
Summary: Bobby's apartment is not the same these days. A Bobby/Abby one-shot, set at an undetermined time in the future.


The first time Bobby saw the apartment, he thought it was possibly the saddest, dreariest place he had ever encountered. "I'll take it" he'd instantly told the landlord. It was what he deserved. It was the right place for him. He wouldn't be living there long, after all. Only as long as it would take to save 148 lives and then he'd be gone, with no forwarding address.

There was nothing in the apartment that he cared about, nothing that he would miss if it were gone. Sometimes when his mind couldn't take another minute of thinking about the people he'd lost in the fire, it would turn to the things. Of course their importance was minimal in comparison, but still, the thoughts hurt. His high school yearbooks. His and Marcy's wedding pictures. The ridiculously expensive juicer he'd given Marcy for her thirty-fifth birthday and which she'd loved and used daily. The Christmas decorations. The afghan his mother had crocheted for him to take with him when he left home to go to college. The silly wooden hula girl statue his parents had brought back from their trip to Hawaii. The "World's Best Dad" mug the kids had given him on their last Father's Day. Bobby Jr's well-loved copy of _Treasure Island_. The tattered blanket Brookie still slept with sometimes, though she refused to admit it. Every item reduced to ashes, every item an additional stab in his heart. The emptiness of his apartment, the complete absence of things, was comforting in that it was a physical reminder that he had nothing left to lose.

His apartment began to change when Abby somehow, through whatever absurd grace of God had allowed it, became part of his life. The first time she came to his apartment, he'd invited her to dinner. She'd brought him a gift, a little jade plant in a terra cotta pot. He'd been something of a gardener once before everything went bad, had grown zucchini and tomatoes in a small plot in the back yard. He put the plant in the sunniest window, kept it appropriately watered, and it thrived.

Another time, she finished the Michael Connelly novel she was reading and left it on the coffee table. He's never been much of a reader, but he picked it up one night and was instantly hooked. The rest of her dog-eared collection of Connelly paperbacks soon took up residence on his empty bookshelf.

The first time she spent the night he wanted her to feel comfortable. He bought her a new toothbrush and bottles of her favorite body wash and shampoo (Carla, who had slowly warmed to Bobby, was happy to let him in on her preferred brands) so she could shower at his place and not have to use his cheap soap. Now he automatically replaces the bottles when they run low and her pink toothbrush sits companionably next to his in the holder, even on the nights when she herself isn't there.

Other things followed. An array of takeout menus from the places they sometimes order from when he's too tired to cook. The _People_ magazines she likes to read as a guilty pleasure. An umbrella she has forgotten, bright blue with white polka dots, sits by the door and she never remembers to take it with her because it is never raining. She is always cold at his place, so he bought her a thick plaid blanket and keeps it on the sofa so she can wrap herself in it while they are watching TV together.

On his birthday, Hen and Chimney and Buck presented him with a framed photo of the four of them, a candid snapshot someone had taken of them next to the newly-washed truck. He put it in a place of honor on the bookshelf. The fact that Buck's birthday wishes were less effusive than those of the other two was understandable. Bobby was just glad he had signed the card. It had taken Buck a while to start speaking to Bobby again, even though months had elapsed between the end of Buck and Abby and the beginning of Abby and Bobby. Buck is slowly but surely thawing, and it's been better lately, especially since Buck started seeing Eliza. Eliza is a cop friend of Athena's, a detective in her thirties with sparkling dark eyes and a wicked sense of humor. Buck hasn't confided in Bobby, but Hen thinks they may be getting serious.

Tonight he is coming back from a fire chief's conference in Indianapolis. It is late when he arrives at the apartment and it was early when he left three days ago, barely 4:00 AM. She'd spent the night and he'd left her sleeping in his bed. She has her own key and could let herself out at a more reasonable hour. He smiles, remembering how she'd woken up just long enough to kiss him goodbye and tell him to be safe and then instantly surrendered to sleep again, long lashes fluttering against her cheek as she burrowed under the comforter.

The fatigue of the trip catches up with him as soon as he is inside the apartment and he is overcome with relief at the realization that his bed is close by and that he has tomorrow off. He goes into the bedroom, drops his suitcase on the floor, and notices something on the pillow. He smiles, realizing that it is the oversized LAFD T-shirt of his that she often borrows to sleep in. It is neatly folded and smells freshly of detergent. Next to it is a note. Picking it up, he reads in her familiar curly script, "Welcome home, my darling. Get some sleep and call me when you wake up. I love you. Abby." He reads it a second time and is rocked by a wave of gratitude and the realization that this is, in fact, home. His home. He has so much. He has so much to lose. And it is all so worth it and he plans to spend as much time here as God will allow him to.


End file.
